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His heart was tightened. A sick feeling was in his stomach. His fingers kept tapping on his thighs. He couldn't stand still. His throat was dry. After all that happened, this is what makes you nervous? He shook his head.
Atanalcar looked around again. His uncle's solar was a comfortable room, with large windows hidden behind light blue curtains and the walls covered in bookshelves. Vardamir would like it here. The dark desk was messier than he would have expected, with unfinished paperwork and an opened bottle of ink lying around. He closed it without thinking. He used to do that to Vardamir too.
He almost went to sit down on a grey armchair in the corner before he realized he shouldn't do so without permission. Uncle would not mind.
Yet he remained standing.
He thought of Elladan and Elrohir - Valar, he had cousins now; of bright Tindómiel and outgoing Manwendil, of sombre Vardamir, of smiling father, of his bold mother. He thought of the countless faces that were gone - Lorhâr and Gorzír from Rhûn, the serious men of Hildórien, of Romestámo and Morinehtar.
He thought of his uncle's face back when he saw him the last time.
It was in Númenor, he remembered. He came for father's funeral, his face grave and sorrowful. Atanalcar couldn't bring him comfort then, not when his own grief was still fresh. Elrond left shortly afterwards without talking much to them. He sent a letter apologizing for his abrupt leave soon after, mentioning he wouldn't be able to return in the near future.
Atanalcar recalled that letter well. It arrived just as he was saying his last farewell to Vardamir. He promised his brother he would come back, meaning it.
It was the only lie he had ever told him. Will you forgive me, brother?
His musings were interrupted by the sound of an opening door. He froze.
He did not need to see the newcomer's face to recognize him. As the tall figure stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, still dressed in his riding clothes, Atanalcar deeply swallowed. A ray of sunshine shone at his face from behind the curtains.
Elrond Peredhel turned around and looked at him for the first time in six thousand years.
Don't cry.
He stood there, still as a statue. His fingers stopped tapping. He wasn't blinking. The face before him brought back old memories - of fishing trips with his father, of long boring hours spent lounging on a chair near Vardamir in a library. His uncle's face was that of a ghost.
Then, before he realized what was happening, Elrond took a few quick steps forward and his arms were around him.
Atanalcar hugged him back without thinking, burying his face in his shoulder. His uncle felt warm and solid, real. He felt weak, his legs barely holding him, as a child again, and Valar, he was crying now-
"Atanalcar," Elrond said, his voice slightly choked. His face was in Atanalcar's hair, his right hand caressing his back. His hold on him tightened.
This was real. He was here.
Had he ever expected to see his uncle again?
By the time they had pulled away, Elrond's tunic was wet from Atanalcar's tears - but so were his eyes, glossy from crying.
Elrond's hand remained on Atanalcar's shoulder.
"Hello, uncle."
His voice sounded shaky even to himself. Surprisingly, Elrond let out a small warm laugh, tearing out even more, before placing a kiss on Atanalcar's brow. He leaned onto him almost instinctively.
"I am so glad to see you," Elrond murmured.
Atanalcar gave him a weak smile.
"So am I."
They sat down in the two armchairs. Elrond brought a bottle of wine from a cupboard, along with two cups. He put them down on the coffee table and poured the wine inside. Atanalcar took the cup and sipped.
"This tastes like the wine they used to make in Lindon," he said.
"Aye, it's from Mithlond."
Silence fell between them. He felt his uncle's gaze on him, but would not meet his eyes. He put down the cup again, choosing to play with the rings on his fingers instead.
"I am not the same person I was when you last saw me," he spoke at last.
Elrond reached out and squeezed Atanalcar's hands.
"Nor am I. I would not expect you to be."
He finally met his gaze. His uncle smiled at him, his face and grey eyes soft. His smile was calming - as still blue sea, the spring flowers, as the touch of light rain on his skin.
"I missed you," he told him.
"I missed you too," Elrond's eyes glistened again, his brows furrowed in emotion. His lower lip trembled. "But I must admit, I did not expect to see you again. How come you are here, nephew?"
He was not demanding an answer. All the same, Atanalcar found himself speaking almost without meaning to.
He blamed it on the shock of seeing his uncle after almost two ages.
The words come out of him like a wave before he could think of stopping them. He didn't want to stop them.
"After father's death, I could not stay in Númenor. In the end, I told Vardamir I was going to sail to the Gates of Morning again. To clear my head. That I would be back in a few years. I..." he paused and closed his eyes for a minute.
"And you never came back," his uncle finished gently for him. "Vardamir told me the tale. And I know from Amandil you did not return after Vardamir's death either."
Vardamir's death. Brother, will you forgive me for never coming home?
"A storm hit us," Atanalcar said while absently nodding. His throat dried again. He took a sip of wine. "I do not remember much of what happened afterwards. Only... The screams. The wild waves rising. The mast breaking. The ship sinking, and everyone with it. I screamed for help, prayed for help, but I could feel none of the Ainur of the sea. I remember... I remember drowning, the water getting into my lungs. The sea was raging. I could not swim."
Valar, his voice was shaking again.
"But you are here."
Atanalcar bit his lip and sighed. His leg was fidgeting.
"I lost my consciousness. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the shore, alone, clothes now only torn and wet rags. The storm was gone."
Elrond's brows knitted. "How?"
"I did not know for many years," Atanalcar admitted. "In truth, at first I thought I was dead. I wandered for weeks until I conceded that... That it was real. And over a century and a half until I acknowledged that... That I am not of the race of Men anymore. I did not age. A few wrinkles were added to my face, but my hair stayed black, my body strong. Yet, only once I suppressed my father in age did I admit to myself that... That..."
"You do not have to tell me anything if you do not feel ready to," Elrond said gently.
He swallowed, resolute to finish his tale now that he had started it. "That I was not mortal anymore."
He could remember that day clearly - the despair he felt, the crashing realization, the burden of his fate. He was just Atanalcar. A sailor from Númenor, the son of Elros. A mortal. He never wished to be anything different. Vardamir did, but Vardamir was better at accepting a fate he did not want than Atanalcar.
Back then, he wished to die. The only thing keeping him from death were the thoughts of the Halls of Mandos. That was not the place for those with the Gift of Men. And he lost his Gift with the sinking ship.
He realized Elrond was hugging him again. Awkwardly, with one arm reaching from one armchair to the other, but hugging him nonetheless. He leaned into his touch, almost feeling like a child again.
"I did not know why I was immortal for many years," he repeated quietly while looking at his hands. His head was hung. "Even now, I can not be truly sure and I only have guesses - but good ones, I think. Before I came here, while still in the East, I have journeyed to the coast once. There, I managed to talk to Ossë, although with some difficulties. But I have heard from him enough to suspect he had a hand in it; and maybe Ilúvatar also."
"Ilúvatar?" Elrond blinked. "It is true we do not know his will, but why would he turn you into an elf? And how could Ossë turn you immortal?"
He shrugged. "I have only guesses."
He went silent and rubbed his eyes, not wishing to elaborate. From the outside, he could hear the loud river running.
"Millennia after the shipwreck, I met two old men. Dressed in blue robes they both were, although of different shades; they bore staffs in their hands, and long beards hung from their faces."
Elrond did a sharp intake of breath. "Alatar and Pallando?"
"I know not those names," Atanalcar said truthfully. "They called themselves Morinehtar and Rómestámo, Darkness-slayer and East-helper, the Ithryn Luin. I would be the first to admit I do not understand very well the nature, the powers of the world, not compared to elves - I am only half-elven by blood and a Man at heart, no matter my immortality, and yet... My heritage from Melian of Doriath may be distant and weak, but I knew the so-called Blue Wizards were of the Maiar by the end of the day."
"It was them, then," Elrond said. "I have only met them once, upon their arrival to Middle Earth; I was one of the ones to greet their ship. I recognized them for whom they were quickly, but others did not; other than me, only Círdan realized their nature, and he told only Gil-galad. They left eastwards shortly after and I have not heard of them since."
"They are still in the East," Atanalcar told him. "I have travelled with them often since our first meeting. That was why I stayed there, in truth, rather than returning. At first, I had no way of getting home - not alone, not on the other side of the world. Then, I was..." He shook his head a little. "Afraid, I think. Too much time has passed. What if I returned only to realize everyone from my old life was gone? That I can not recognize my home anymore? To see Númenor different than I remembered it? And so I stayed."
"You can have a new home here if you want," Elrond told him and leaned closer to kiss his hair. Outside, the wind wailed.
"Elladan has already offered, right before we were told you have returned. I accepted."
"Good." He kissed his hair again.
Atanalcar hesitated before continuing. "However, that was not the only thing keeping me in the East. During my years spent wandering, I... I kept seeing the people there. Proud they were, of cultures I have never seen, never even heard of. I have learned their tongues and their customs, their joys and struggles, and... I wanted to help." He drunk from the cup and started playing with his rings again. "Not at first, not really. They were not my people. I did not understand them well. But then, after I spent a few decades there... Something changed. It took me many years to realize why the air itself sometimes felt evil. Morgoth may have been gone, but..."
"Sauron was not," his uncle sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Aye, we have thought he started his wrongdoings in the East."
"He did," Atanalcar agreed. "And many agreed with him and joined him, for the promises he gave them, and for the bitterness some kept hidden inside. But not everyone."
"You stayed for them," Elrond realized. "You said you have wandered with Ithryn Luin. That they call themselves different names now. East-helper, Darkness-slayer." Atanalcar nodded. Elrond let go of his back and sipped from his wine. He continued: "That is why they have gone to the East, is it not? Later, more of their kin from the West have come to Middle Earth, each for their own purpose, yet joined in their goal - to fight the shadow of the Enemy. I have long wondered if Alatar and Pallando were given a similar task in the distant lands."
"They were," he said. "And I helped them when I could, even before meeting them; although I did not know that yet. After Sauron was defeated in a war - in truth, I do not know much about it for I was near Rhun at the time, but I know enough to know he was gone from Mordor... I wanted to return then. But when I started the journey westwards, I have realized... I have realized that the fear of returning, only not to recognize anything of my old life, has never truly left me."
"So you turned back."
"So I turned back."
"And what led you here now?"
Atanalcar pondered on the answer for a while. "I think it started with Rómestámo and Morinehtar," he said slowly. "They have never told me much; not of their origin, nor of what happened in the west after I left Númenor. But what little they said worried me, and yet gave me hope. I have not acted upon it. Not until... Not until recently. The last time I saw them, about two decades ago, Rómestámo... He told me... He told me you were still alive when he saw you and not seeming to want to leave anytime soon."
His uncle looked startled and touched. "You started considering your return because of me?"
Atanalcar's eyes glistened. He gave him a small smile. "You are my family, are you not?"
Elrond laughed, his voice warm like the fire in a homely hearth. Tears shimmered in his eyes. "Aye, that I am."
Atanalcar's smile widened but then he sighed. "I did not journey back to Middle Earth immediately, however," he confessed. "It took me some time to adjust to the idea of leaving. I suppose I have spent far too long in the East by then. In a way, it was my home as much as Númenor or Middle Earth - and for a much longer time. And I feared... It has been long since Rómestámo saw you. Anything could have been different. You could have sailed. You could have... Changed." He swallowed. "Died."
"I am here," Elrond told him gently, "and changed I am, although I hope not enough not to be recognizable."
The corners of Atanalcar's lips turned upwards again. "You are still the uncle I know and love."
Elrond smiled at him. "Then I am glad."
Atanalcar smiled back before getting lost in his thoughts. Where was he... Ah. "I considered sailing to Valinor should my fears be proven to be true, but it still took me some time to get used to the idea of leaving the East. I was... Tired. Tired and worn. I may have the life of an elf now, but I was never truly meant to be one. This... None of this was supposed to happen. And being one of the only immortals in a land of Men was not easy. They always died. I... did not." He sighed. "Once I finally made up my mind to leave, I tried searching for Rómestámo and Morinehtar, but quickly, I got tired of my search. Once decided, it was like a flame was lit in my heart, in my mind. I could not get rid of thoughts of Númenor, now long gone; of western Middle Earth far away. In the end, I only left them a message - although I do not think it was truly necessary. They knew my decision long before I knew it."
"Sounds like a wizard I know."
Atanalcar snorted. "They do have a way about them, do they not?"
Elrond laughed. "That they do, indeed! I think you will get along with Mithrandir well."
"In that case, I am looking forward to meeting him. I suppose you and him are good friends?"
"Unfortunately," but even as he said it, Atanalcar could hear the fondness in his voice.
Wizards.
"I have left the East two years ago," he took on where he left. "I was not sure in what direction to continue, so I went southwest - only to come to the realm of Gondor. It took me a few weeks to start properly communicating, for their Sindarin sounded strange to me, but once I learned to speak properly, I learned much." For a minute he closed his eyes. "There I learned that should I find elves, they would be much further north - and so I went northwards." A dry smile came to his mouth. "You would have thought that elves would change their location after six thousand years, but you do not get along with change, do you!"
"Do not begrudge us so!" Elrond laughed. "And you came to Rivendell, finally, after all this time. I still can not fully believe you are here, for it seems too good to be true."
"Indeed! And I am glad that I did, too, and that I can be with you again, and that I have finally met my cousins." He gave him a dry smile. "Travelling through Hithaelgir was not easy or fun, but I think I have managed well enough."
Strangely enough, Elrond seemed to grow sorrowful. "Hithaelgir is never easy or fun to travel through," he said in a quiet voice before quickly composing himself.
Atanalcar gave him a curious look but decided not to ask questions.
Later.
"I must say that I did not know this was your house when I came here; I only felt something elven and run into a patrol that was travelling. They took me here and... You know the rest." A realization hit him. "I told Elladan I would tell you all everything about my travels at the same time."
"You can tell him, Elrohir, and Arwen later. Or I can, if you do not wish to repeat it."
He gave him a grateful look and sighed. "Still, I promised Elladan to tell the tale to all of you; and I shall do so."
"As you wish." Elrond bowed with his head.
They stayed there for many hours, chatting and catching up, tearing up and laughing. Atanalcar found himself freer, more open than he had been in a long time.
Once, he had asked his uncle of the shadow of Hithaeglir. His uncle did not answer.
Later.
He did not realize how much time has passed, not even when the sun had set and the gentle touch of moonlight was passing through the now opened curtains. Elrond had lit up the candles and their warm flame was flickering.
As Atanalcar was speaking, mid-sentence he was interrupted by the sound of the opening door. A familiar head popped out, silver eyes piercing the room before smiling.
"You both have missed the dinner," Elrohir told them - or at least Atanalcar thought he was Elrohir, for the way he bore himself reminded him more of Manwendil than Vardamir, whom Elladan strongly resembled.
Elrond's eyes sparkled as he replied. "Alas! Such is the woe of those who get trapped in a conversation - have you left anything for your poor father and even poorer cousin, who has yet to eat here; or shall he consider us poor hosts?"
"I ate here!" Atanalcar protested quickly. "Elladan took me to the kitchens, right before you came!"
"He mentioned you enjoyed honey cakes, so we left you some for dessert. You will have to share with me, sadly - I enjoy them just as much," Elrohir said, still grinning.
"And have you left anything for me?" Elrond asked as he stood up.
"You will have to see, father! Come; we shall have a mediocre family dinner!" And with these words he sprinted away, laughing.
Atanalcar's lips formed into another smile.
He ran after his cousin without thinking.